


Green Lion, Blue Arrow

by vulturer



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestor-Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulturer/pseuds/vulturer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The E%ecutor stands before her, his sharp arrow pointed at her heart, but something stops him from releasing the string.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Lion, Blue Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of _feelings_ about Nepeta and Equius (as in, they're becoming my favorite characters) and this latest update was... well... inspiring.
> 
> This was mainly an outlet for me to try a different writing style, and to break out of my current AU mold. It was a good challenge! Hope you enjoy it.

  
Green Lion, Blue Arrow

____________________________________________________

  


A torrent of thunderous cries cascaded upon E%ecutor Darkleer's conscience, wriggling and squirming their way into his clouded thinkpan as he stood poised to take another life. To crush another wretched filth-blood that needed to be made an example of in front of the masses because the ideas that had sprung out of their propagating rebellion were dangerous. They were blasphemous, audacious, and they reeked so strongly of mutiny that Her Imperious Condescension had deemed them important enough to be answered with war.

And here it was to end.

The figurehead had been burned, the irons that clasped his wrists so hot that they glowed a fiery orange, bright enough to illuminate his freakish blood for all the world to see. The very thing that had instilled such ambition within the rebel had become a red message, whispered from ear to ear, the words ringing _look, look at that disgusting monster, what a failure. He speaks such heresy. He is truly mad._

The blue-blood's silent arrow had been meant to signal a denouement, an abrupt finish to the troublesome revolutionary movement, but it did not bring silence. It did not bring resolution. Unknowingly, the E%ecutor had ushered in a new beginning, starting with a curse, that deceptively retreated into an undertow. He was not to know this until much later, but the current ran strong in those who still believed. Especially in the creature now staring up at the gleaming end of his cobalt decree.

Her ocular spheres were wider than he could have ever anticipated from a living being, staring sharp and accusatory blades into his deadened thoughts. She was crouched low to the ground like a cornered clawbeast, clutching grey cloth close to her chest. The fabric was stained crimson with the heretic's mutant ichor and her nails looked close to piercing holes straight through. It was an inspiring sight; a small and wiry body surrounded by a churning sea of violent masses, peering down the honed blue edge, knowing that she was about to die.

The executioner paused. The bowstring pulled harshly against his gloved fingers but his tendons would not allow release. As the crowd screamed and howled and begged for an event — it was impossible to decipher what action they desired, whether it was murder or mercy — his vascular channels ran as cold as his color. The roar of voices was a wash of white noise, a distant backdrop to the vanishing point that was the Disciple. It was as if the world around him had suddenly curved inward, gravitationally lensed around her piercing stare, her glistening tears. Suddenly, nothing else existed except for her. Not the Condesce's infuriated commandment, not the shock of red that oozed from around the black arrow, not the savage cloud that flung the world into pandemonium... Nothing.

She was powerful. Her tangled hair and pointed horns radiated a fierce impression, a direct mirror to her passionate loyalty, and her slender figure hid untold resilience and vigor. Or, at least that is what had been, moments before she was faced with the weapon that would silence everything she had worked for, every scrap of knowledge that she had engrained upon the walls of her thinkpan. Now, she was terrified, holding the only piece of physical evidence left of her steadfast beliefs, and it showed.

Her tears were olive green. Soft leaves underneath the twin moons. An inferior hue that, until a moment ago, had been nothing but a smear of dirt underneath the blue-blood's condescending eyes. Now, though... right now, that color was beautiful. The E%ecutor stood, petrified, as he gazed upon her faintly trembling frame. He could not even begin to describe the rush of emotion that seized his vascular pump organ, flooding him with such an overwhelming uncertainty that he nearly forgot his orders completely. His determination had no chance against her. Out of the maelstrom that was confusion rose a clear and terrifying thought; _what a pitiful girl. Her world has fallen around her. She has nothing left. How sad._

Every cell of his flesh screamed with the need to release the bolt, to carry out the exalted command of the Empress, to fulfill his sworn duty as her underling, but...

 _He couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't._

The following series of events were not registered by Darkleer's fogged mind until the rumble that was the sweeping crowd escalated into a horrendous cacophony. The excruciating sound plunged into the E%ecutor's aural canals and he sobered up enough to register the cause; he had lowered his weapon. The bow was slack. The girl was alive.

Shock and fear flooded her twisted face and she stared at her would-be-killer, looking as if she couldn't believe the scene even though it was unfolding right in front of her. It didn't make a shred of sense. He had murdered her king and yet spared her the rod? It couldn't be.

She had but seconds to process the twist before the surging populace consumed her and she stood up on shaking legs, throwing once last emotive glance back at the highblood. Her glare contained not gratefulness or truce, but a blazing hatred for everything that he stood for. This act of mercy would not be appreciated because living in a world without her heart was not really living at all. He knew this, he felt the electric shock travel between them, and she vanished with the bloody cloth into the furious crowd.

The act fell around him. He sensed the future upheaval before it had a chance to even start, though judging by the reactions of the many spectators, he could venture a guess as to how they would unfold. He heard it in the back of his mind, the sound that would follow his name forever, a hollow echo that would reverberate within his own shadow; _traitor._

A swift death would be a merciful end.

Anything else would be hell.

  


____________________

  


Your name is Nepeta Leijon and everything you ever wanted is right there in front of you, close enough to touch. It would be so easy, he's right there, you could just extend your arm and tap his shoulder and you want to, _you want to so badly,_ but you can't.

You can't.

 _You can't._


End file.
